The Sentinels young as the morning; old as the sea

insp

Perhaps some other time there would be a moment in which they would find themselves able to breathe, and remark on the splendor of the woodland. How the trees swayed with their partner, the wind; how the brooks gave life to the wonderous flora and fauna that dwelled beneath the protection of the towering pillars; or how the sun that twinkled betwixt the smallest gaps in the canopy allotted the barest speckling of light to illuminate the forest floor. 

Now, however, was not the time. Though Marcello was irrevocably and quite suddenly drawn to how she had phrased her response. It was not that just the wolves, themselves, spoke of her in such a way. It was as if... as if the whole of them did. From the quivering mouse to the haughty eagle. Did she, the witch queen, speak to them too?

"Deirdre, then." He replied warmly once she, herself, had finished. He felt a lot less flabbergasted, and more confident now that she had expressed jovality in taking a moment to converse with him. "How long as your pack called this place home? Your tone suggests a fondness that spans many generations."